


The Key to It All

by Beatriceorme



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:23:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatriceorme/pseuds/Beatriceorme





	1. That Night

**That Night**  
  
  
“Just give me the damn keys!”  
  
“No! I can…candothis.”  
  
“Sure you can, Sean. Sure you can.”  
  
The wind whined, low and hollow, slapping into Elijah’s face. Despite hunkering inward, it sneaked under his coat, down his collar, raising a third set of goose bumps across his back. His nose dripped, his feet were two numb blocks of ice, and the nice, sweet drunk he had painstakingly cultivated all evening through beer, whiskey and Jager shooters was beginning to abandon him; only a scummy bathtub ring of a buzz remained, too close to stone cold sober on this night when Feet would not roust him out of bed the next morning.   
  
“Getinthere!”  
  
“Christ, Sean! It’s fucking freezing!”  
  
On the other hand, Sean’s bender – a singularly unique experience witnessed by no less than Dom, Billy, Orli and several hundred Kiwis at the club – was untouched by the pre-dawn chill.  
  
“This…right one? Nope.”  
  
“Shit.”  
  
Head resting against the wood, body swaying as if adrift on choppy water, Sean mumbled – inebriated words of wisdom – and fumbled with the lock on his front door.   
  
“Almost…inthere………damn.”  
  
The keys tinked when they hit the concrete.  
  
“For fuck’s sake, Sean! Here!”  
  
A quick swipe and the fallen keys chilled Elijah’s palm. Using the brilliant light of an August moon and stars formed in patterns that now seemed normal, Elijah searched Sean’s crowded key ring. He recognized his own spare key, a few more. But, a new house for the Astin’s meant new keys and none of the others looked familiar.  
  
“Which one, Sean? Which goes to the front door?”  
  
“Silver. Square. Five holes.”  
  
“Got it!”  
  
Correct one poised and ready, Elijah discovered the warmth of inside was no closer because Sean – bent over and guarding the lock – steadfastly refused to budge.  
  
“Uh, Sean?”  
  
“Ever _really_ looked at your own doorstep, Lij?”   
  
“Fuck.”  
  
Tiny frustrated grunts pushed out as Elijah stooped to wiggle between his plastered friend and the door.  
  
“Never gonna let you get shitfaced again. You’re a sloppy fucking drunk.”  
  
“Am not.”  
  
“Like to hear your definition of the word then.”  
  
“Marked by a lack of preci…precis…care.”  
  
“Like I said.”  
  
With the loss of solid New Zealand construction to hold him up, Sean easily transferred that task to Elijah by draping syrupy across his back.  
  
“You’re a fucking piece of work there, Astin.”  
  
“Why, thank you.”  
  
Sean’s body blocked the worst of the wind, and the goose bumps on Elijah’s skin began to melt away. In fact, now that his teeth had ceased chattering, thanks to the comfortable warmth from behind, Elijah began, if not to enjoy, then at least to accept their predicament and to remember that any night with Sean, drunk and locked out of the house in the middle of a New Zealand winter even, was time well spent.   
  
“Let me help.”  
  
“Stop that! You had your shot at this, Sean, don’t -”  
  
Elijah didn’t realize just how frozen his hands were until wrapped in Sean’s. Those fingers were remarkably soft and strong, and between the two of them – a still flying high Sean and a thawing out Elijah – the right key slipped into the lock and the front door finally opened.  
  
“Fuck yeah!”  
  
“Home sweet, empty house.”  
  
A single light burned in the main room, a guide through an otherwise darkened house. Straight ahead and to the right, Elijah knew, was bedroom. A short trek to the left would lead to the den. However, if the ever increasing weight on his back was any indication, unless Elijah moved quickly, Sean could slip off right here in the foyer where he would greet the morning, because once Sean was unconscious on the hardwood, as much as he hated to admit it, Elijah had no hope of lifting him back up again. He trudged forward, intending to see his friend safely to the comfort of the -  
  
“Couch, Lij.”  
  
“That’s where we’re headed, Sean. Hold on.”  
  
A steady puff of hot breath on the side of his face sparked a glow somewhere near the pit of Elijah’s stomach. Familiar, yet strange, he sincerely hoped that it was not the alcohol preparing for a sudden and unwanted journey north.  
  
“You smell like ear glue, Lij.”  
  
“Well, you smell like Monk’s Habit.”  
  
“Ear stuff and you. I like it. Smells nice.”  
  
A quick, graceless side-step past an arm chair, a dorky shimmy by the oak coffee table, a twisting dump move of the shoulder and Sean was deposited safely on the couch.  
  
“Get your coat off, Sean. I’ll take care of your shoes.”  
  
“Really like this couch, she didn’t want it, too cold and impersonal, she said, I don’t think it’s cold and impersonal, do you, Lij, think it’s cold and impersonal?”  
  
“No, Sean. Leather’s my favorite. Your coat, take it off.”  
  
Kneeling, Elijah fought briefly with double knots, cursing Sean’s fastidiousness until the sneakers slipped free. The coat was a completely different matter, however.  
  
“Won’t…come…off.”  
  
The purchased-to-appear-antique lamp in the far corner of the room sloughed an anemic beige, just catching the edge of the couch. But, the fuzzy circle of light was plenty for Elijah to watch Sean struggle to dislocate his shoulder, using that logic that only those in an altered state of awareness find infallible by attempting to remove his coat over his head without unbuttoning it.  
  
“Gonna hurt yourself if you, Sean, just let me.”  
  
First button revealed tufts of wavy brown, second a set of bleary, hazel eyes. The third, fourth then at last fifth, a chagrined and grateful smile.  
  
“I _am_ sloppy drunk.”  
  
“Nope. You’re just Sean Astin, someone incapable of doing anything half-assed.”  
  
Left arm out, right arm just as easy, Sean’s hand slapped limply to the sofa cushion. A gentle push to a shoulder and he slowly tipped over, his head landing on Elijah’s strategically placed pillow. Feet swung up, bunched up coat removed and tossed aside, blanket snagged from the arm chair and placed just so, and Elijah settled Sean comfortably to sleep off his binge.  
  
“Oh, good. Room stopped spinning.”  
  
“Gonna get you some water. Be right back.”  
  
By the time Elijah returned from the kitchen, taking longer than expected to find which cabinet held the glassware, Sean’s breathing had evened out into a slumbering rhythm, his face slack and peaceful. Hydrating his starved body would help with the fated hangover Elijah knew from past experience, but Sean needed to rest also. So, instead of waking him and forcing water, he set the glass on one of the brightly colored coasters, intending to slip out quietly. Sean stopped his clean exit.  
  
“Lij?”  
  
“Yeah, Sean?”  
  
He bent down to hear the whisper, eager to remain near Sean, knees hugged by expensive oriental fibers.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“No problem. You’ve done the same for me a couple of times, if I recall.”  
  
“Yeah, but that’s my job. Taking care of you.”  
  
“And you do a hell of a job.”  
  
Elijah tucked the blanket further under Sean’s chin. Small recompense, he knew, for the attention usually lavished on him.  
  
“Tonight being the exception. Sorry.”  
  
“Nothing to apologize for. Everybody’s got the right to let loose once and a while.”  
  
“Not me.”  
  
And that’s what had nagged at Elijah since Sean’s acceptance of the clubbing invitation. He came along, sometimes, never imbibed, just sucked down club soda and watched others making public idiots of themselves. But tonight Sean – permanent designated driver, safety guru, the one so tightly wound with obligations and self-appointed duty that all involved with the film wouldn’t be surprised if some day soon diamonds popped out his ass – had obviously been hell bent on getting wasted.  
  
“Then why, Sean?”  
  
“Why what, Lij?”  
  
“Never seen you drink so much. Why tonight? Why now?”  
  
Sean winced, and Elijah hurt. Instinctively he brushed his fingertips across the furrows trying to ease his friend’s distress.  
  
“Sean…?”  
  
“Just didn’t want to think anymore. So tired of thinking.”  
  
That idea was ludicrous, too wild for Elijah even to entertain. Part of Sean’s enormous charm was his never ending contemplation. Where others sometimes found it tiresome and tedious, Elijah marveled at the vast variety of subjects that flitted through Sean’s mind. So many things going on and Sean had to be connected to them all somehow. It was what made him tick, made him Sean. And now he said he was tired of it. Impossible.  
  
“Did it work?”  
  
“Fuck no. Still thinking. That feels good, by the way.”  
  
Elijah widened his circles to include cheek and hair.  
  
“Just big picture stuff, or one problem in particular you wanted to avoid?”  
  
“Just one.”  
  
“Ya know, I’m a good listener, if you want to talk about -”  
  
“I…no. Just can’t.”  
  
“Come on, Sean, it’s me. You can tell –  
  
“ _No_. Won’t talk about it. Especially with you.”  
  
Fingers paused as the sting of Sean’s rejection seeped down from head to heart, forming a slimy rock in the back of Elijah’s throat. On important things, stuff that mattered, Sean had _never_ shut him out before. The aching cold returned, freezing him from the inside this time.  
  
“Oh…well…I.”  
  
“Just can’t tell you. Understand?”  
  
“Sure, sure.”  
  
He didn’t, though. Elijah didn’t want to understand. He wanted to shake Sean into talking. He wanted to shout about how much it hurt, how angry he was right now that Sean had turned away, that Sean didn’t want or need him. But, he didn’t. Elijah bent down and touched his lips lightly to brow instead.  
  
“Lij, I -”  
  
“Need to get going anyway.”  
  
“Had fun tonight. Really.”  
  
“Remember you said that when you feel like shit in the morning.”  
  
“Thanks, I think.”  
  
He knew he should follow Sean’s wishes, not broach the subject again. Just walk out, go home to ride the waves of the sick churning in his gut in the privacy of his own bathroom. And normally he would have. But, this time was different. He had watched his friend’s rather pointed alcohol induced self-destruction, had touched the worry etched across his face. Elijah had felt Sean’s pain and tonight he just could not let it go. He just _had_ to say something.  
  
“I know you don’t want my advice, but maybe instead of drinking yourself into oblivion to avoid thinking, you should just do something about the problem. Actions being louder and all. And, not to mention, a whole hell of a lot cheaper.”  
  
Options, ideas, possibilities, consequences whizzed, playing across Sean’s eyes on fast forward, zipping by too fast for Elijah to grab on and follow along.  
  
“You really think so?”  
  
“I _know_ so.”  
  
Sean’s hand snaked out from under the blanket to find Elijah’s and squeezed.  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“Yeah, me too, Sean.”  
  
“No. Listen. I _love_ you, Elijah.”  
  
“Sean?”  
  
A throaty groan of pleasure when hips met, seeking pressure and friction, hard-ons grinding together, and the switch flicked on, reconnecting Elijah’s reality. Tangled up in the blanket, he blinked, licked his swollen lips. Sprawled atop the couch, atop _Sean_ , he was held securely in place by strong hands cupping his ass while his fingers snagged tightly in Sean’s hair. His advice had been heeded.   
  
Sean had confessed, kissed him - and he had answered back willingly.  
  
“Lij…”  
  
“No, don’t. Not one word.”  
  
He couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Clumsy and awkward, Elijah scrambled off Sean, away from the couch. He bumped the coffee table, ran smack into the arm chair, but never stopped, just kept running away. Even Sean’s anguished cry of his name was ignored and silenced by the slamming of the front door behind him.  
  
He walked home, not noticing a single step. Beyond frozen when he arrived, he stripped immediately, flinging the clothes into the back of his closet. The shower was brutally hot and he scrubbed until his skin burned red. He took three sleeping pills, gulped a microwaved glass of milk. He fluffed up his pillows and put on his favorite PJ bottoms. He turned on soothing sounds of the sea and twisted the blinds tight. Lying in bed, staring at the Rorschach shadow designs on his ceiling, he recited lines - Frodo and everyone else during the Council of Elrond scene, listed the numbers in his cell phone, called out every song from every Radiohead CD he owned, in chronological order. Anything to keep thoughts of tonight at bay.  
  
He failed miserably.   
  
Sleep rescued Elijah only after he found release, jerking strokes and the taste of Sean sweet on his lips.  
  
  



	2. That Morning

  
   
   
   
“Sean? Sean! You in there?”  
  
Sean pulled the pillow tighter over his head. It muffled the pounding on his front door, but did not stop the percussion sections in his head, stomach and heart. They played on, conflicting rhythms that seemed to vibrate through the couch, down to the floor. Each one distinct, and he had put words to the beats some time between frantic bathroom dashes Four and Five. Head chanted ‘Fuck up!’ stomach pounded ‘Cheater!’ and his heart repeated his undoing – ‘Elijah!’  
  
“Damnit, Sean, I know you’re home ‘cause your car’s in the fucking garage! Open the door!”  
  
It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Two for one, that’s what should have happened; a night of heavy drinking followed by a dismal day of hang-over. Stupid, yes, but it would result in almost thirty-six hours of no thinking. Alcohol and nausea would supersede thought, blessing him with at least a day and a half of freedom from his terrible secret.  
  
He had failed miserably.  
  
Think was all he had done since Elijah escaped, disgusted. And whether scrunched in a pitiful ball on the couch, or dry heaving face first into the toilet, it had all led Sean to one inescapable conclusion: his life was now a prodigious mess, all the disparate sides weaving and intertwining, overlapping until he felt lost in an Escher painting, unsure of which way was up.  
  
“Need to talk, Sean and I sure as _hell_ don’t want to do it standing on your front porch. Open the fucking door!”  
  
His grab and grope had alienated Elijah which would jeopardize the film thus perhaps dooming his career making it difficult to provide for his family that he had betrayed by setting someone above them in his heart whom he had no right to doom to a life of deception but he would never be whole again without making him less than a husband which would shortchange his girls who would come to resent him for his failure to live up to his promise the one he shattered by falling in love with another which completed the circle that always took him back to Elijah.  
  
“Don’t want to talk? Fine! Not gonna waste my time anymore. Goodbye, Sean. Call me when you find your fucking balls!”  
  
House shrouded, closing off the wasted day, Sean huddled on the couch, clothes twisted and dirty, wrapped in the blanket that smelled vaguely of Elijah, his mind still tumbling. At least the pounding on his front door had ceased.  
  
“Told you you’d feel like shit.”  
  
He moved too quickly; head beating ‘Fuckup!’ with a vengeance as he squinted into the self-imposed shadows of the room.  
  
“How the hell did you get in?”  
  
From somewhere near the arm chair, keys jangled.  
  
“This is the mountain coming to Mohammed.”  
  
“Not feeling real well at the moment, Lij.”  
  
“Well, _duh_.”  
  
It might have worked. Sean actually believed maybe for a second there that he could do this, face up to his mistake, if only Elijah would remain hidden, just a vague shape out there in the darkness. But he stepped forward, bringing angry, hurt, and determined blue into focus. And then Elijah sat down. Right there on the cold and impersonal couch that had been anything but last night for those few minutes Sean had held him safe in his arms; heart thumping next to his, breath warming his mouth. Elijah sat only two sofa cushions away, and any composure Sean thought he had rallied during the night tucked tail and ran.  
  
“Don’t feel like talking right now.”  
  
“Now there’s a fucking miracle.”  
  
“Go home, Lij.”  
  
“You don’t want to talk, that’s fine by me. You can just listen then.”  
  
Elijah was up again pacing, a nervous ball of frenetic energy, back and forth across the room, quick strides, hands cutting through the air for emphasis, fingers twitching to hold a cigarette, eyes wide, face flushed. Slouched in the corner of the couch, head in his hands, Sean didn’t watch him. There was no need. He knew already, everything Elijah did and was, just by the feel of his body this close.  
  
“Pissed as hell at you last night! You _kissed_ me, for fuck’s sake! Kissed - and squeezed my ass. What was I supposed to think, huh? I’m straight, you’re straight _and_ married, and here we are going at it like two fucking queens in heat. I mean, what the fuck was that? Should have punched the shit out of you right there. Jesus Christ, Sean! You fucking _kissed_ me!”  
  
“I know, Lij. I was there, remember?”  
  
“You sure as hell were, and so was I.”  
  
“I’m sorry. It should never have happened.”  
  
That sounded trite even to Sean’s ears, a pathetic attempt to find absolution for a sin that deserved none.  
  
“So, you didn’t _mean_ to kiss me?”  
  
That was a turning point question. Elijah had just handed him a way out of this. With just one word he could set everything to rights. All he had to do was plead Drunken Asshole and the matter would drop, and their lives could resume normal again. All he had to say was that it was all a big mistake and it would go back to being just Sean and Elijah. All he had to do was lie.  
  
“No.”  
  
“So, it was the beer that made you stick your tongue damn near down my throat.”  
  
“I couldn’t even take my own coat off, Lij!”  
  
“So, it could have been anybody. Say, if Billy or Dom had dragged your sorry ass back home, you would have snogged them?”  
  
“Even PJ. I never would have known the difference.”  
  
“And told them you loved them, too?”  
  
“I was drunk. People do stupid things when they’re drunk, you know that.”  
  
The words draped heavy on his tongue, rancid and cheap.  
  
“It was just a big drunken fuck-up, then. When you said you loved me.”  
  
Sean did not have the courage to look up. A coward, he concentrated on the blanket’s fuzz balls instead of the joy that undoubtedly brightened Elijah’s eyes.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Silence. Sean held his breath, praying that this would end it and he could go back to loving and desiring in his private hell. He exhaled only when Elijah sighed deeply, sounding relieved and content.  
  
“OK. Good. Got that cleared up. Gonna go now, leave you to your misery. A lot of shit to take care of, ya know. Laundry, groceries, gotta call home. Ya know, regular stuff. See you at Feet tomorrow, oh…here.”  
  
A hand appeared under Sean’s nose. Elijah’s, with his keys piled on the outstretched palm.  
  
“You might need these later.”  
  
Sean reached for them. But, no keys. Got strong fingers wrapped around his wrist and a vicious yank up instead.  
  
“Sean, you are so full of shit.”  
  
This kiss was exactly like Sean remembered: the curve of Elijah’s lips, the strong tongue slipping neatly around his mouth. Yet, nothing like that first taste. This time there was something behind Elijah’s push inwards. Those slender hands clasping his face, the bold thrust of his hips, the way his mouth refused to relinquish control. Sean recognized what was happening for he had dreamed of this very moment for an eternity. Elijah was claiming him.  
  
“No! We can’t -”  
  
Pushing away, Sean stumbled back, landing on the couch, undignified but not really caring. He could hear Elijah panting, the desire radiating outward, aimed straight at him.  
  
“Frodo and Sam.”  
  
Sean’s head was fuzzy enough - with hang-over, the intoxication of the kiss, the abrupt intrusion of light into the room when Elijah switched on the lamp by the couch – and the sudden right turn in the conversation didn’t help.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Did a shit load of thinking last night, well, after I stopped trying not to think and whacked off remembering just how fucking great you tasted.”  
  
With that image running wild through his mind, Sean now expected his head would explode. Both of them.  
  
“From wanking to Tolkien. Is that even possible?”  
  
“I don’t want to be Frodo to your Sam.”  
  
“A little late for that, don’t you think?”  
  
“We talked about this before, Sean. They loved each other.”  
  
“Yes, but -”  
  
“They never did anything about it.”  
  
“The opinion of some oversexed fans notwithstanding.”  
  
“Frodo and Sam had the strength and courage to struggle all the way to Mordor, face down Sauron, but not enough to tell each other the truth of their hearts.”  
  
“I don’t see -”  
  
“They had to wait sixty years to be together.”  
  
“Sixty-two, actually.”  
  
“ _Sean_. Having a moment here and you’re fucking it up.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Settling on the couch, Elijah hugged his knees close, his chin resting atop, his eyes downcast and hooded.  
  
“I don’t want to wait that long, Sean. I’m not noble and self-sacrificing like Frodo. _Can’t_ wait that long. Not sixty years, not sixty seconds.”  
  
“What, what are you saying?”  
  
“I love you. I’m _in_ love with you. Have been for a fucking long time. Just took you getting drunk off your ass to show me the truth. ”  
  
Sean could not abstain any longer; he had to touch Elijah. Trembling, he reached out, his knuckles tracing abstract patterns on pristine skin, memorizing that exact blue as Elijah turned to smile at him. Tears pooled in Sean’s eyes were poised to break free at the merest blink. Hot and cold, petrified and jubilant, he didn’t know if he was even breathing anymore. Didn’t care. Not now. Now that his Elijah loved him.  
  
“Lij, when I said, you know, earlier that I, well -”  
  
“You love me. I know.”  
  
“But, I said –”  
  
“You’re a piss poor liar, Sean.”  
  
They kissed again, soft and gentle. A solemn ceremony’s sweet benediction.  
  
“What the _hell_ do we do now?”  
  
Foreheads bumped, Elijah’s hand scratching at Sean’s deep five o’clock stubble. Sean couldn’t believe it, he actually purred.  
  
“I’m going to scrounge something to eat and you’re taking a shower. You fucking stink.”  
  
Elijah smoothed over his insult with a quick kiss, then bounded over the back of the couch, disappearing into the kitchen.  
  
From despair to elation. From bleak to bright. With one simple phrase – I love you, Sean – he went from Escher to Pollack. Where once he trudged up stairs going nowhere, he now wandered amid random splatters. He almost preferred the former. Sure, it had been an exercise in futility, traveling up one flight to see the bottom of another. But, there at least he had a form, a pattern to follow. Here he was inundated with shapeless colors scattered everywhere, surrounded by the pieces of his previously well-ordered life, each one shouting a different question that he had no earthly idea how to answer.  
  
His marriage, was it over?  
  
He still loved his wife, his children existed in his every breath. But, so did Elijah, the finishing touch on a soul Sean hadn’t even known was incomplete until Hotel Ma Maison Sofitel.  
  
Gay or straight?  
  
Long legs and a nice ass, that’s what turned his head. He had never had to guess or ponder – he just was. Then came his nineteen year old co-star. One flash of Elijah blue and Zing! A hard-on the size of Wyoming.  
  
Consummate the relationship?  
  
Two questions in one, really, and Sean concentrated on the safer of the two for a moment – a relationship.  
  
This was something he had experience with, and he felt secure in his understanding. Relationships were not built on just a declaration of love. They take time and patience. Lots of work and trouble. Trust and compromise. Relationships require a willingness to share and grow. The desire to discover everything. Likes and hates. Ups and downs. Ins and outs. All the intimate…  
  
Adjusting the state of Wyoming, Sean ran quickly to the other side of the question.  
  
The desire was there, that’s for damn sure, if the heat ignited as they kissed was any indication. And Sean desperately wanted every inch of skin and muscle to be his. Hold, smother, revel, worship, and adore every inch. To touch minds, to share hearts, to explore and – Sean wanted to fuck his brains out until Elijah’s throat was climax-scream raw and he sprawled exhausted, gleaming from sex sweat with a tiny smile curved on his lips that spoke volumes about the sexual prowess of his lover.  
  
If or when that would ever happen was the canvas on which the other questions were splattered, and the solutions to all were too far away for Sean’s hang-over abused mind to reach. He held out a fervent hope that the hot water would restore some of the faculties clouded by beer, no sleep and Elijah’s love.  
  
“Hey, I thought you were going to take a shower.”  
  
When he had struggled from the couch with an old man’s grunt, Sean had had every intention of heading straight for the bathroom. He wanted to wash the night’s worth of sweat, sick and shame from his body. He had come to the kitchen instead.  
  
“I am.”  
  
Illuminated with a pale shaft of refrigerator, Elijah raised an eyebrow, quirking his milk moustache sideways.  
  
“Well?”  
  
Perhaps Sean would be able to work on a few of those answers after all.  
  
“Want to join me?”  
  



End file.
